Junior: The Second Generation
by MangoDonut
Summary: 25 years after their parents made a scientific breakthrough with the drug Expectane, Junior Hesse and Jake Arbogast find themselves working in the same fertility research lab for one year. After one drunken night, history repeats itself as a scientific conundrum is created in their lab, which leads to new developments, relationships, and fun... nine months to be exact.
1. Unexpected

Junior Hesse settled into her desk chair in her perfectly organized cubicle. Neatly placed to her left was a picture of her parents, a candid photo taken on the porch of their San Francisco bungalow. Her mother's greying blonde hair framed the innumerable laugh lines from years of intimate moments with her father, whose muscular arm gathered her in an inseparable embrace. The background was a perfect sunset. An Instagramable sunset, the ones that continued to remind her why she chose to stay here, in her birthplace. On her right stood a picture of her younger sister, Jules.

She smelled the sterility of the research lab, a smell that had comforted her throughout her undergrad years as a premed student, and her recently completed masters degree in Biochemistry. She tried not to think about the rejection letter from med school that haunted her for the second year in a row. _This genetics research position will not be the death of me. _She thought to herself. _This will be a year of growth_.

Suddenly she shifted her weight, her ears erect and nostrils flared. She thought she heard… something that made her stomach drop slightly. Was it a Bombay Bicycle song? It couldn't be. She sniffed the rancid air. Liverwurst?

Jake.

It couldn't be. Jake Arbogast was the only person she knew who listened to that obscure London-based band and actually enjoyed the acidic taste of liverwurst. Jake, the guy who joined this world literally minutes after her and shared every single major life event with her, mostly against her will. She recounted every stuffed animal they shared custody over and high school memories in which he overshadowed her Quiz Bowl trophies with his football State Championship rings. He followed her to Stanford, but this research lab position? Every angsty adolescent emotion she experienced resurfaced, and she didn't like it.

Discretely (or to the best of her ability), Junior sat up from her chair, and scanned the rows of cubicles in the building, but not discretely enough because he saw her. He definitely saw her.

"Junior?" he garbled, his mouth full of sandwich. He was sitting in his own cluttered cubicle but immediately stood up. "I don't believe it!"

She groaned and slumped back in her chair and listened to his lumbering footsteps approach her cubicle.

"I don't believe it," he repeated, a little softer this time.

"Me neither," she grumbled, and turned back to face her idle computer screen.

"You haven't changed," he chuckled as he jumped onto the desk and scooted near her. The weight of his stocky build shook her parents' picture; she rolled her eyes.

She never really understood where he got his looks. His celebrity looks found no origin in his parents. He towered over his father. He had this rock star quality unmatched by all others. Every time Junior caught herself admiring it she punished herself.

"What brings you here, Jake?" she asked with little fluctuation in her voice.

"Oh, you know, another med school rejection letter leads to another year in question. Thought I'd dabble in fertility research this time. You?"

"Wait, the invincible Jake Arbogast gets rejected from medical school? Impossible," she tried to hide her genuine surprise with sarcasm.

"I guess so?" he scratched the back of his head and yawned. His trademarked casual cool. "It's okay, I'm over it. I'm comparing differential artificial insemination techniques. Back to you, what are you doing in this lowly place? I thought you'd be prepping for your first boards exam by now."

"It appears we're similar in more ways than one, Jake. Med school didn't work for me this time around, so my academic adviser suggested doing research in embryo research, freezing them to be exact."

Jake cocked his head slightly. "Well maybe our research will cross paths at some point?"

She let their eyes meet, briefly. His grey-blue eyes, the ones that established his heartbreaker status in 5th grade displayed such an honest care for her that was never present during their lives. Maybe spending two years apart—aside from major holidays— did a good thing for them. Did he know that his dangling foot was grazing against her thigh? Or was this his pseudo-flirt trick that she managed to shield herself away from and yet crushed plenty of girls in her friend group?

"Doubtful," she replied, cleared her throat and started to type an unnecessary email.

"Well, this year won't get too crazy will it?" he bantered back. She couldn't tell if there was honesty in his voice.

"Absolutely not," she said back, not sure if there was honesty in her voice, either.


	2. No Consequences

Jake rested his back against the bar, took a sip from his beer and yawned. He was used to science nerd gatherings from his college years, but this outing with several of his research lab "buddies" proved to be just as lackluster. It embarrassed him that this cubicle mates coughed awkwardly around the women at the bar and that they didn't know how to order a proper beer (or drink it for the matter). _Science nerds_, he thought with a dismal tone, and took a big gulp from his beer.

He loved parties. It took him only a matter of minutes before he became the chick magnet whom all model lookalikes found absolutely irresistible. Whatever conversation he was holding with someone became the conversation that _everyone _wanted to get a piece of. He was a 6'2" slab of seductiveness. He frequented the gym, and it definitely looked like he did. He's been told many a time that his blue-grey eyes are mesmerizing. Het got it.

Bored, Jake waved to Quentin from across the room. Quentin was one of his old fraternity brothers at Stanford who, on a whim, decided to apply to work in the same research lab with him, and miraculously got the position. An excellent companion and wingman, Quentin would know how to spice things up

"How you doing, man?" Jake asked him casually.

"Too sober," he replied and looked at his buddy. "Wanna ditch?"

Jake cocked his head and surveyed the scene. It was at peak hours for a bar crawl, yet the place was only mildly crowded. He was secretly hoping that the hot secretary Riley would be there.

"Naw, let's feel this one out. I think we need to fix the intoxication problem, shall we?" He patted his hip flask and grinned feverishly at his old friend.

"Nothing's changed since college, has it?" he guffawed, summoned the bartender and ordered two cokes. "Did you put Everclear in that?" his eyes widened.

"190-proof, as always," Jake tossed his beer back and discretely filled the sodas with a substantial amount of alcohol.

"Ride together, die together," Quentin responded and poured the drink down his throat, neither of them caring about the consequences that could possibly happen.


	3. Attraction

Jake felt the music pulsating in the room. He felt the heat of Riley's breath against his cheek as she whispered some nonsensical words into his ear, and boy did he feel _good_.

By then the hard alcohol had already done its job, and the night had turned into a lively event. Before his eyes, the acne-prone, stuttering scientists had turned into absolute studs.

Riley had taken down her hair for the night, and traded her bookish glasses for sultry red lipstick, and she was practically all over him; Jake was already envisioning the events that would take place as soon as they left this dank bar.

"Dude, Jake, look who decided to join us tonight. It's your kiddie pool buddy," Quentin hollered from the other end of the bar.

In his drunken giddiness Jake giggled at his friend's comment. All over his house are pictures from Jake and Junior's childhood, his personal favorite, a candid of Jake attempting to wrestle Junior in a shallow inflatable pool in the Arbogast's backyard.

At first he didn't believe what his friend told him. Junior pretty much spent all of high school traveling to fencing tournaments and running the student tutoring center. Whenever he got drunker than expected he could always rely on Junior to (reluctantly) pick him up from house parties on weekends, usually accuse him of being an alcoholic, yet always made sure he got to his home safely. In college she wouldn't dare step foot in a frat house or even think about wearing a skirt that didn't go past her knees.

He turned to the entrance and watched as Junior walked into the bar. He caught himself staring just a little too long and quickly looked away before she could see him. Jake tried to think of the last time she wore anything revealing or tight. He had a difficult time thinking of a recent memory.

Still, he couldn't get over the fact that Junior, the girl whose favorite pastime was going to the Container Store and attended weekly Jane Austen book club meetings, was at that bar, but more importantly, the fact that she looked good. She looked damn good.

"Junior!" he screeched across the bar. Quentin gave him a concerned look but Jake brushed it off. She looked a little concerned as well.

"Junior!" he panted and ran up to her. "I didn't think I would see you here!"

"Jake," she replied, sounding a bit startled. "I'm not here to give you a ride back if that's what you're asking."

"No, not at all! I'm just, I'm just," he paused realizing the effect of the alcohol. "I'm just happy you're here." The next words that came out of his mouth were ones he never thought he'd ever say: "Can I buy you a drink?"

Junior hesitated and studied her childhood companion. Sure, he could barely stand up and his cheeks were now a cherry red, but she would be lying to herself if she said she didn't like the attention.

She had observed him, unassumingly, over these past few weeks. She had forgotten about his outstanding work ethic that didn't correlate with his charismatic, carefree personality. All of the women drooled around his cubicle during lunch breaks, and the guys practically stuttered asking to borrow his sample tubes.

Why did he feel compelled to rush over to her at he bar? Could she place all of the blame on his intoxication?

She looked at him again. His eyes were locked with hers, smiling sheepishly.

"I'll have what you're having."


End file.
